Sever The Bonds
by Scarlett Wilde
Summary: 2009 John comes to an unwelcome realization about his sons and how close they've become. And that spells the start of the end for Sam and Dean. Contains brief WINCEST.


Rating: NC-17

Warnings: slash, angst

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 4000  
Fandom: Supernatural  
Disclaimer: I own nothing at all.  
Pairing: Sam/Dean

~ O ~

The poltergeist had been a bitch to destroy, and it had taken all three of them all of their strength to banish it off once and for all. Silently, John had driven his two boys back to the abandoned farmhouse they had been squatting in, leaving Sam and Dean in the kitchen while he went and showered.

Dean was just making Sam a chocolate milkshake when John wandered back into the kitchen, scrubbing a rough and worn out towel through his short salt and pepper hair. "You boys got enough to eat if I go out tonight?"

Sam took the plastic tumbler of chocolate milk and looked at Dean.

"Yes sir," Dean nodded, aware of Sam's eyes watching him carefully.

"Sure? Okay then. I'm gonna head off into town for a drink. I want you two showered, and then you get Sammy something to eat, Dean, please. And I want you both in bed by the time I get back." John didn't add in case he brought someone back from the bar with him. There were some things you just didn't share with your kids no matter what your lifestyle.

"Yes sir," Dean answered a second time.

John aimed the wet towel at Sam. "Go shower, son. You can finish your milk later."

"Okay dad… I mean sir," Sam corrected himself. He went quickly, knowing his dad wanted to talk to Dean without him around, and it didn't pay to disobey John Winchester.

When John was sure Sam was out of ear-shot, he eyeballed Dean. "You make sure you stay with the kid tonight. No going out alley-catting. I'll know," John tapped his nose to let Dean know he meant it, that he'd smell the evidence on Dean's clothes – they'd had this conversation more than a few times.

"No sir. I'll stay with Sammy," Dean promised. He'd left Sammy one time. One time. And his dad never let him forget it. And even then, he hadn't been 'alley-catting' as his dad had put it. He'd been out buying supplies. A thirty minute round trip, and dad had caught him. And never let him forget either.

"Good. See that you do. Now I'mma gonna go get myself a thank-fuck-it's-over drink, and you and Sammy get yourselves an early night. There's a six-pack under my bed, you can help yourselves, but don't let Sammy have more than one bottle."

Dean grinned at his dad, eyes sparkling. "Yes sir, I mean no sir."

John winked at his eldest son, picked up the truck's keys from the top of the dead refrigerator that had been left behind when the place had been abandoned and headed out into the dusky evening.

As he turned the key to start the engine, John cast a glance back to the farmhouse. They'd lucked out with this place. It couldn't have been long abandoned. It still had hot water, and a gas fuelled generator out back. Still, in the evenings, they kept the lights to a minimum lest their hideout be discovered. It wasn't often they got free semi-luxurious holdings such as this.

By the time he was on the main road, one last glance back at the farmhouse told him the boys were already turning out the lights. Once they'd had their showers and eaten, he knew they'd drink their beers on the old ratbag of a couch and play card games until Dean carried Sam's lanky frame off to bed.

John couldn't believe how much Sammy had grown over the last couple of years. Gone was the awkward chubby teen, and in his place was this long-limbed graceful creature who reminded him so much of Mary that it hurt to be in the same room as him sometimes.

Oh yeah, John knew he took his anger and frustration out on Sam. Poor Sam, who'd never even known the woman he was so like. John knew he was wrong, but he couldn't stop himself. And it didn't help that Sam also took after Mary in other ways. He was clever, a quick leaner and an eager student – always wanting to know more, why and how. John wasn't dumb by any stretch of the imagination, but it didn't stop them clashing over Sam wanting, no, needing, to go to school, to get better grades… to want more out of life… to want more than John could give him with the way the Winchester's now lived their lives.

Sometimes, it hurt John more than he could put into words. He wanted his boys with him forever, so that he could keep them safe always. He knew what watched from the shadows, waiting for the opportune moment to strike. He knew the things that hid themselves under the cloak of darkness, ready to snatch what little light there was left and plunge his sons into the never ending night of evil.

God damn it. He needed hard liquor and a soft woman tonight – in that order. Hopefully, the small town would throw both his way, but if he had to only take one, he'd take the alcohol. He had a perfectly good right hand that could take care of the secondary ache he felt, but nothing could come close to the liquid burn of whiskey dulling the pain of his lonely life.

The parking lot behind the only bar in the small town was almost empty save for one or two trucks much like his own, a car or three and a couple of motorbikes.

Inside, the bar was busier than it appeared from the outside. The soft lull of country music filled the air, rising above the chatter of the patrons. No one seemed to pay him no nevermind as he strode up to the bar and ordered his beer and whiskey chaser. They were probably used to passing strangers drowning their woes in liquor, and the thought made John comfortable. He liked being able to not stand out. He wouldn't say blend in, because they were times when blending in wasn't an option, so he stuck to what he did best and kept a low profile.

Halfway through his second round, John's attention was caught by the two young men entering the bar. A quick double take and he was sure they weren't his sons – but they could have been from the way they dressed, their heights, and the way they bumped shoulders as they walked up to the bar and came to stand right beside him.

He watched them as they ordered a couple of bottle of beer and took them over to the pool table. One etched their names on the chalkboard while the other grabbed them a table in the corner, chatting all friendly-like to the players using the table while they waited their turn.

There was something about the two young men that had John glued to their every movement. It was unnerving how much like Sam and Dean these two were – right own to the shoulder bumps to get each other's attention; to the way their knees met and bumped against each other, and stayed there, just resting comfortably. And yeah, the way they kept each other's gaze that bit longer than they did with anyone else, like they could see into each other's minds and know what the other was thinking.

John had spent many a time watching his sons this way through the rear view mirror before Dean had been old enough to take over driving the Impala. Watching the way his sons communicated in their own secret, private way that he wasn't allowed to be a part of. He'd watched as Dean would keep a protective arm around his little brother, even when he was fast asleep and Dean would be bent into the most uncomfortable of positions just so that Sammy could sleep on comfortably.

John had been like that with Mary. Making sure she was comfortable even if it meant he wasn't. Because that was one of those little unmentioned things that you did when you were in love.

John glanced at the boys again as he swallowed the third – or was it now the fourth - whiskey shot whole. The uncomfortable burn in his throat matched the feeling growing in the pit of his stomach. The older looking boy had taken hold of the younger one's hand and was stroking small circles against the wrist with his thumb as he eye-fucked him, oblivious to the rest of the room. John'd seen that before. Seen that very action earlier today.

He frowned. His eyebrows knitting above his eyes, and he rubbed the lines deepening in his forehead.

_In love._

It was like a buzz in his ear, getting louder and louder as he watched the train wreck unfolding before him. These two kids were in love. Deeply and irrevocably in love. It was in every action they made, every touch… every blush staining their cheeks… every look that passed between them…

He was a blind stupid fool, because John had been looking at this every day since Sam had turned fifteen, and he'd been too blind to notice. It took two kids who reminded him of his sons to open his eyes and see what had been in front of him this whole time.

Bile rose in John's stomach and he lurched towards the door, thinking maybe, just maybe fresh air will help. But as he doubled over and retched into one of the sad looking potted plants at the entrance, even he had to admit that events were taking a fucking dramatic u-turn.

John didn't remember driving back to the farmhouse. Doesn't know how he made it back without an accident, but grateful that he did. He needed to his boys for himself, prove to his subconscious that it was just his over-active imagination stimulated by endless lonely hours and too much booze.

He crept round the back of the farmhouse… not daring to go inside knowing full-well that Dean's instincts were as well honed as his own. The slightest noise would alert them both to his presence and he really didn't want them to see him until he was good and ready… to face them.

For a long time, John stood in the shadows, scrubbing a calloused hand over his face. His mouth tasted sour, and his stomach ached from throwing up, but none of that mattered. All he could see in his mind was the way his boys looked at each other when they thought John was distracted with other things – and he had been… distracted… too distracted by evil, and things that go bump in the night, to notice that the looks had gone from brotherly to something just as dark as the things they hunted.

He hid himself just far enough away to not be noticed, but close enough to be able to see inside without being seen. It wasn't hard. It was something he'd honed through the years he'd been hunting. To see and not be seen… to hear and not be heard…

One candle lit the downstairs room that served as Dean and Sam's bedroom. One candle that barely lit the room but gave John enough light to see the worst of his suspicions confirmed.

Sam, stretched out beneath Dean, naked, sublime in his innocent glory, long limbed and glowing in the half-light.

Dean rising above Sam, only joined at the hip, lip bitten in concentration, all muscle and sinew and trembling strength.

Fuck!

They were beautiful in each and every abominable way.

And if that wasn't enough, he could hear them, whispering declarations of '_together_' and '_forever_' and '_love you_' to each other… and no! This was wrong. This was _dirtybadfuckingwrongerthanwrong _and John wanted to march in there and pull them apart and beat their asses so they couldn't stand to be in the same room as each other, let lone touch… and kiss… and fuck…

John closed his eyes, fighting the tight clench in his gut, made himself stand still. His nails dug into his palms as he squeezed his hands into tight fists. He wanted to hit something so badly the anger was tangible.

He could do all that – kick the living shit out of them – but they were both as stubborn as he himself was, and John knew all that would do was drive them closer together.

John heard the groans and sharp sighs that he recognized. The sickness turned to stone in his belly. His sons fucked each other, made each other come, one inside the other and fuck! This wasn't happening. This was all John's own fault. Too many times leaving them alone, demanding Dean care for Sammy. Too may times pushing them into sharing a room. Too many hours alone on the road without only each other to forms bonds with.

'_I want this forever, Dean. You and me… just us… no one else…'_ Sam's hushed voice drove nails through the darkness and buried them in John's heart.

Dean's voice followed… raw and lax… and no less painful. _'Me too, Sammy. Me too. As soon as you're eighteen, we can just go. You and me. Away from dad, away from everything. We can go somewhere new, somewhere where no one knows us and just…'_

John walked away. He heard as much as his heart – his soul – could bear.

He wasn't even aware that he was walking further into the woods behind the house until he reached the stream that ran along the boundary. Dropping to his knees, he lets the tears fall, unbidden, down his cheeks.

All the promises he'd made to Mary, all now broken and tattered, strewn about his heart like torn up pages from a book.

How, in God's name, had things become so damned fucked up?

He needed to do something. Needed to make this all right again. Make his sons not be the way they were. He wanted them to go back to being normal… Had his boys ever been normal? Was he to blame for this? Of course he was. And he was the one who had to fix things…

Using the hem of his shirt, John wiped his face clean and started making his way back to the farmhouse. He had some ideas about how to deal with this, and he was damned if he wasn't gonna put them into action first thing in the morning.

~ O ~

Over the course of the next few weeks, they moved around from job to job, and John kept them busy – and exhausted. He had them training harder, longer and alone. He picked accommodation that had three separate rooms and hung around more after jobs instead of going out for a drink.

John had never felt more alone in his life than he did there and then. There was no one he could talk to about it. Who would listen, and not be disgusted by his sons' unnatural love for each other? Not Bobby. Not Pastor Jim…

And he could see the frustration building in his sons, both of them looking like they were ready to burst. But John couldn't find it in his heart to feel sorry for them. His soul ached for them, and he had to do this. Had to drive a wedge between them, had to make them not love each other that way any more.

But his sons? They weren't his sons for nothing, and they came up with some very inventive ways of trying to get away from him. But John was smarter than they gave him credit for, and he had even more inventive ways of keeping them apart.

He'd found the best way to keep Sam busy was to actively encourage his schooling. And John had even gone to the extent of settling in one town, visiting Sam's school and getting him extra classes outside of regular school hours… and then have him out training while sending Dean out to get food.

By the time Dean would get back, Sam would've showered and be half asleep from exhaustion. He'd be falling asleep before he'd finished eating… and still John couldn't bring himself to feel bad about the situation.

He knew that what he was doing, he was doing for their benefit – even if they didn't realize it right there and then. He knew that one day, they'd be thankful that he managed to put a stop to something they obviously couldn't.

The only thing John hates more than the thought of his two boys in bed together is the silence, the atmosphere hanging between them. It's like a huge black cloud following them wherever they go. And John? He's just waiting for the breaking storm that's gonna happen any minute now. Waiting for that one little thing that'll permanently tip the scales and finish whatever had started.

And John had that all planned out.

It hurt John deep inside to know he was going to deliberately break Sam's heart, but it had to be done.

He picked Sam up after one of his extra curricular classes – John couldn't remember which one, they all blended into each other at the moment – and took him back to the apartment he was renting in the suburbs, sending him in ahead while he made up some excuse about needing to check the engine over for some rattle or other that he'd just noticed.

Sam had rolled his eyes, and John's gut had clenched in anticipation.

He watched through narrowed eyes as Sam entered the apartment and then waited. If everything went to plan, one or the other of them would come running out right about…

"Sammy… wait…" Dean's voice cut sharp through the early dusk.

Sam stormed out of the door, passed John with barely a glance and carried on walking down the road.

Dean came stumbling out of the room, shirt open and flapping in the breeze, pants unfastened and his hands clutching at the waistband. "Sammy," he shouted again, looking at John as he were the devil himself.

John shrugged and went back to tinkering in the truck's engine.

"Sammy…" Dean shouted again.

But Sam had blended into the night, just like John had taught them.

Dean spun around to face his father, eyes dark with unsettling anger and hatred. "You bastard. You set this up, didn't you? You knew… about us?"

John swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing with the motion. One slight nod, barely visible and Dean was flying at him, fists slamming into him.

"I'll never forgive you for this. One thing. One thing that was mine, and no one else's. Now you've taken that away along with everything else." The words came out punctuated by punches and venomous snarls.

"Had to… Had to do it… No choice… It was wrong…" John managed to bite out as he grabbed Dean's fists and his stronger hands. "You'll see it… One day… Down the line… You'll both be thanking me…"

"One day, down the line… I'mma gonna kill you for this…" Dean snarled one last threat and pulled his hands from John's and stormed back inside the apartment.

John cleaned his greasy hands off on a rag and sighed heavily. Life was so fucked up and he hadn't got a clue how to properly fix things… if they could at all be fixed. He didn't think they could be. Not now.

~ O ~

Three weeks later, Sam got a package in the mail. The post mark read Palo Alto.

John turned it over and over in his hands as if he'd be able to divine its contents just from touch alone. He guessed it was some kind of college acceptance.

He dropped it back down onto the hall table and the vociferous echo was ominous.

Both Sam and Dean had been avoiding each other since the hooker incident. He knew they were both suffering, but this was something they had to get over in their own time. He had, however, stopped pushing them so hard with the training. There wasn't much need now that they both couldn't appear to be in the same room as each other.

And each day, John's own heart broke a little too.

~ O ~

John watched as Sam picked up the large white envelope and take with him to his room.

He had to fight with himself to not hold his breath while he waited…

…and waited…

"I got a full ride to Stanford," Sam told John in voice that was dead and dull.

John nodded. "You gonna take it?"

"Kind of a redundant question," Sam answered and turned and disappeared back into his room, slamming the door shut.

John nodded to himself once more, and then cracked open his first of many beers that night.

Later that evening, John told Dean that Sam was going to college. The silence that followed was deafening.

~ O ~

"_Dad says you're going to college?" _

John heard Dean's voice filter through the hallway and the six beers that were already dulling his system. He couldn't hear Sam's reply, but he didn't really need to. He could well imagine Sam's voice in his head, strained and pointed.

"_If you go, just don't fucking come back..."_

John hadn't been expecting that…

"_Because I might not be able to wait for you that long, Sammy…"_

John closed his eyes tight against the unbidden images of his two sons writhing together on a rumpled bed, sheets tangled around legs and sweat sheening their bodies, and the whispered words of love that still haunted his nightmares and waking moments.

"_I don't want you to go, Sammy… please… just stay… please…"_

The tear that slid down John's cheek went unheeded, as did the beer in his hand. He reached for the whiskey at the back of the cupboard and drank straight from the bottle. The sting of alcohol barely numbed the tightening of his throat. This wasn't the future he and Mary had mapped out for his boys so long ago now.

~ O ~

John stirred at the first noise. Sam was sneaking out of the apartment. His youngest son was running away and it didn't take a genius to work that out. His first thought was that maybe he and Dean were running away together and the blood thundered in his brain.

Jumping silently out of his bed, John stole down the hall to Dean's room. The door was shut and the room was quiet. He turned the handle and pushed the door open a crack and saw Dean standing at the window, still in his ratty old pajama pants.

John wasn't surprised when Dean turned to look at him, and tears streaked his oldest son's face.

John scrubbed his hand over his face several times before he was able to speak. "Sam's gone?"

Dean nodded once and then went back to looking out of the window, hand splayed across the glass. There was nothing else John could say. Nothing else would mean anything.

On his way back to his bed, John opened Sam's bedroom door. The room was neat and tidy as if it had never been used. It was also devoid of anything to do with Sam. Not that they had much in the way of personal belongings, but everything had gone… along with his son.

~ O ~

Whatever happened next, John knew he'd done his best – even if he'd gone about it the wrong way. He had no control over the future, but he hoped with everything in him, that they would find a way to be together without needing to be _together._

There were times when John wondered if that was ever a possibility. He severely doubted it, but he had to believe it… even if were for Mary's memory only.

There some things in life that were just black and white. There was no room for gray. No room for different.

No room for two brothers to love each other.

~ The End ~


End file.
